


Vedriti

by orphan_account



Series: threads of memory [6]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Rain, Xing, mentions of blood and death, not enough to get a warning though, past trauma, so possible tw?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27597995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Vedriti(v) To take shelter from the rain.
Relationships: Lan Fan & Ling Yao, Lan Fan/Ling Yao
Series: threads of memory [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883734
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	Vedriti

**Author's Note:**

> Hi to the two people who bookmarked this series-  
> I know I haven't posted on this in a while. Sorry. But you probably forgot about it, so I hope that's ok. I've actually had this in my Docs since August, which doesn't really make sense. I guess I didn't want to do two Lingfans in a row?  
> Whatever. This is from a while back, so my writing has definitely improved since then. Hope you like it!

Usually, waking up to find the Young Lord gone would have alarmed Lan Fan.

But this had become a common occurrence every time he had any spare time--any tiny scrap that wasn’t occupied by blithering ministers or babbling generals. During any and all time he had on his hands, he would disappear from view and watch gleefully from somewhere up high as the entire palace was thrown into a panic looking for him. 

She could only hope he would grow out of it.

When this happened, the only thing to do was to locate the Young Lord, make sure he wasn’t kidnapped, and then eventually drag him back wherever he had an appointment. It was tiring. Killing assassins was so much easier than convincing the Young Lord that this meeting really _was_ important, it wasn’t just a room full of “blabbering baboons who like the sound of their own voices.” Which sometimes meant she had to lie to him.

Now, the small matter of _finding_ the Young Lord. Lan Fan glanced out of one of the tall windows lining the Golden Hall. Overcast. Her arm ached, and she grimaced. It would rain soon. A thunderstorm, from the looks of it. 

Moving as quickly and quietly as possible, she walked to the servant’s entrance and slipped outside. It was always best to start on the exterior--the Young Lord had once bluntly stated “The throne room is more of a prison than that homunculus’s stomach.” Lan Fan couldn’t vouch for the accuracy of that statement, as she had never been personally swallowed by Gluttony, but she had to admit the airy room could become rather stifling when filled to the brim with pompous court officials. As soon as she stepped out, Lan Fan took a deep breath and slipped into the Dragon’s Pulse. Unless he didn’t want her to find him (which hadn’t yet happened), his qi would be suppressed enough so that others couldn’t read it, but it would be relatively easy for her to. Sure enough, after a few minutes of searching, she felt the faint but familiar presence of orchids and copper. Lan Fan sighed and leaped onto the roof, grunting a little as her aching arm hit the jade tiles. 

She ran with quick, light steps across the tiles, following the tendrils of qi. From the feel of it, she estimated he would be somewhere along the Eastern edge of the palace buildings, the side that faced the game forest. She sighed again. At least he wasn’t kidnapped. 

* * *

“I found you.” It wasn’t very formal, but Lan Fan’s aching stump was making her grouchy.

The Young Lord looked up with the mischievous smile she had grown to both love and hate. “Ah, there you are, Lan Fan. How did you find me?”

“Your Highness knows I am an accomplished qi-reader.” Oh, no--had that comment been too insubordinate? She froze.

Seeming not to notice her discomfort, his smile grew bigger. “It was a rhetorical question.”

Lan Fan felt a blush redden her face, and she was glad she had her mask. 

Wait.

She _didn’t_ have her mask. Had she forgotten it? How idiotic of her! What would Grandfather have thought? She hurriedly tugged the cowl of her black gi to cover part of her face, but the tips of her ears were still bright red.

The Young Lord had been watching her reaction with barely concealed glee. “Come, sit,” he said, patting a piece of roof to his right. 

She nimbly jumped down from her perch and sat. The mandated three feet away, of course. It might have been her imagination, but she thought she saw the shadow of a frown cross his face for a split second.

As soon as she folded her legs beneath herself, her stump was hit with a fresh wave of pain. Letting an involuntary hiss escape, she clutched her metal shoulder and tried to maneuver it in a circle. The pain only increased. Vaguely, she thought of Edward Elric back in Amestris--had his automail arm ached like hers did now?

“Lan Fan?” The Young Lord was suddenly at her side. “Lan Fan, are you all right?”

She nodded mutely, still clutching her shoulder. More personal space between them would be a _very_ good idea at this point, but she couldn’t make herself move away. 

His eyes narrowed. He definitely didn’t believe her. “Your shoulder hurts.” It was a statement, not a question.

She shook her head and directed her gaze to the tiles beneath her feet. He would only worry about her. And he did enough of that already, she knew, even though she was supposed to be the one worrying about him in this particular relationship… 

He touched her chin lightly, and she looked up out of shock. He was _most certainly_ not allowed to do _that._ But since when had Ling Yao cared about rules? His eyes bored into hers. “Need I remind you,” he said in a voice that was both hard and soft, “that lying to the Emperor is considered treason?”

She tried to sigh, but it became something like another hiss of pain. “My stump always hurts when it’s about to rain. Especially after--” She clamped her mouth shut, refusing to continue, because if she did, she wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Especially after what, exactly?”

Lan Fan stayed silent. Thunder rolled overhead, and she saw the first few raindrops splatter on the roof in front of her.

“Was it after you saved my life in Amestris?” His thumb lightly brushed against her jawline before he dropped his hand to his lap.

She nodded mutely, afraid to speak lest another hiss of pain escape from her mouth.

He nodded. “I remember.” _I told you to let go, but you didn’t listen. You refused to abandon me._

There was silence. The rain started falling heavily, and the Young Lord scooted back to be completely covered by the overhang.

He gazed into the bristly tree-line of the game forest. Rain drummed on the roof around them, giving a pale grey tint to their surroundings. “The rain always reminds me of growth, of new life.” He turned to look at her again. “What do you think of it?”

They were still too close together. Lan Fan wanted to pull away, to sever the almost-contact, but another side of her kept her firmly planted at his side. It was where she had been all her life, and it was where she would stay—that was the vow she had made. What were a few inches too close? “It reminds me of...things I would rather forget.” Why had she said that? Why did she feel so safe around him?

His eyes said he understood. He knew why she would wake up screaming some nights, why she kept her past under lock and key to all except him. He knew her pain, the demons of her subconscious, the knowledge of the girl hidden behind the Yang mask.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered softly, his voice nearly drowned out by the sound of the rain on the jade-tiled roof. He had little to be sorry for. It was she who should apologize, apologize for the things she had seen and done.

_Rain blending with her tears and the blood streaking Xue’s face, frantically shaking her shoulder before realizing the blood staining her ruqun was her own, blinking away the water streaming into and from her eyes, frantically searching for a sign of life, she had been five years old and had seen death already, too many times, but for it to be Xue was impossible, she was going to stand up and walk, Lan Fan knew she would—_

“It wasn’t your fault.” She realized he was touching her flesh hand, but she hardly felt the heat. How could he say that, he only knew the story, he hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen _the horse spooked by the lightning, eyes rolling, locking on her and Xue at the edge of the pen, hooves flailing, striking the arm she had thrown in front of her face, striking Xue’s head as Lan Fan had fallen, screaming, knocking into Xue’s side, knocking her directly into the path of those sharp, lashing, deadly hooves, hearing the crack, seeing the blood and rain running freely down Xue’s forehead—_

“Lan Fan.” his voice was urgent, but it sounded far away. She couldn’t even move her head, staring blankly into the smudgy gray sky in front of them. She knew she must look insane, hair blowing around her face in the wind, eyes wide and staring, unable to do anything but remember _shaking Xue, calling for help, screaming and crying, curling her own tiny body around her best and only friend, trying to protect her from the rain and the still-raging horse and the blood that was coming from both of them—_

 _“Lan Fan. It’s over.”_ She managed to look to the side, seeing the Young Lord’s face full of concern and an undercurrent of _terror,_ something she hadn’t seen for so long. Her hand twitched. She could snap herself out of whatever this bout of weakness was, could move on, could ignore this like she had for years, burying it under her duty—

A flash of lightning streaked across the darkening sky, and her mind plummeted back into the darkness. _Horse Xue blood tears rain mud and blood staining white ruqun brown and red black eyes without life—_

“Lan Fan.” His concerned eyes held her own, held them fast with no escape possible. His hands cupped either side of her face, forcing her to look at him. “ _It’s over._ ”

She took a shuddering breath, pushing down the memories that had so easily taken over her. She felt warmth on her face. His hands were still on either side of her face, and that was _definitely not allowed at all_. The dark eyes that held hers had lost some of their concern, and now held an emotion she couldn’t quite place.

“It shouldn’t affect me this much anymore,” she choked out. Involuntarily, her flesh hand went to her automail arm, tracing circles in the metal spattered with water droplets. “I don’t even have the scar.”

“We both know not all scars are visible,” he said, hands dropping--mercifully, sadly--into his lap. He rubbed the back of his left hand, where the ouroboros tattoo had once been. Lan Fan vaguely wondered if he realized he was doing so, wondered if the scar--no, the absence of the scar--pained him physically as well as emotionally.

A few minutes passed in silence, both wanting to say something but not knowing what. Lan Fan contented herself with concentrating on trying to listen for the water that had undoubtedly collected in her automail. Rainwater seeped in through the joints, and although the metal was impervious to rust, it was a pain to dry out. The droplets made tiny plinking sounds when moving from one level of the interior machinery to the next.

“It’s a wonder I still think somewhat fondly of Amestris, even after all we went through in that country,” the Young Lord said suddenly. “Perhaps it was the food.” All the food that he had eaten, and subsequently put on Edward Elric’s tab. The room service fee they had racked up had been astronomical—Lan Fan almost smiled at the memory of the older Elric brother’s face when he had seen the receipt.

“I can't see how you can.” Her metal arm creaked as she flexed the fingers, the ever-present reminder of the months they had spent in that country.

“To be honest, I can’t either,” he sighed. “We both lost so much.”

She had lost an arm. And a grandfather, her only remaining family. He had temporarily lost control of his whole body.

“But we gained a lot, too. Friends. Allies. A Philosopher’s Stone.”

Lan Fan thought. This was true. In a way, he had also gained the position of Emperor while in Amestris. “Was it worth it?” she asked.

He glanced sideways at her. “I don’t know. Was it?”

Silence. Lan Fan found that she didn’t know. She should have nothing but hate for Amestris, but she found herself thinking of the good they had seen and done. Was that something to hate as well? Did the losses outweigh their gains? 

In the end, the Young Lord answered himself. “That’s an impossible question. To speculate about how things would be in the present, if only we had changed the past.”

It was her turn to glance sideways at him. “You’re rather philosophical.”

“I am,” he agreed.

Lan Fan sighed. “Why did we ever get so involved in that country’s affairs?” she muttered, only half to herself. It was something she had asked herself too many times to count.

He threw back his head and laughed. “I don’t know. I really don’t know,” he chuckled. “It was supposed to just be a quest for the Philosopher’s Stone. But of course, we had to get involved in a government conspiracy regarding immortal beings and a homunculus’s bid to become god. Nothing is ever simple.”

“The Chang princess was involved as well,” Lan Fan added.

“She was. You know, she told me she had the chance to get the Philosopher’s Stone.”

Lan Fan blinked, surprised. “Really?” She hadn’t heard that part of the story.

He nodded, continuing. “But she saved Lieutenant Hawkeye instead.” He shuddered. “Good thing, too. Imagine Mei as Empress. We’d be ruined.”

It was Lan Fan’s curiosity that kept her from reprimanding him about insulting fellow royalty. “If I may ask, what happened to Lieutenant Hawkeye?” She hadn’t had much chance to speak to the woman, but she vaguely remembered a concerned face with dark brown eyes leaning over her, wiping the sweat from her forehead with a cold washcloth while her left side was in excruciating pain. The Lieutenant had been covered in blood in the final battle with the godlike homunculus--had that been the effect of what the Young Lord had said?

The Young Lord shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m sure she and her Colonel are doing all right now.”

Lan Fan frowned, vaguely disappointed in the lack of information. If it wasn’t too insubordinate of her, she might be able to ask Princess Chang about what had happened later.

He quirked his mouth to the side, gazing out into the downpour. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but thankfully, no lightning showed itself. “And then, of course, there was Greed,” he muttered. 

Lan Fan glanced down at her legs folded neatly underneath herself. Even years later, the topic was still raw. So was the subject of Grandfather. She felt like she should say something, but couldn’t think of anything, so she waited. Given time, the Young Lord would finish whatever thought he had on his own. Sure enough, he continued after only a few seconds of silence. 

“It was ironic, wasn’t it?”

“What was?”

“His death. Greed’s death. He was the living embodiment of Greed, and yet he sacrificed himself for us, for all of us. He died being selfish. Really, all he wanted was to _be_ wanted, and, well…” He trailed off. “He was wanted. He was a true friend, in the end.”

Lan Fan bit the inside of her cheek. “That doesn’t change the fact that he took over your body.”

He nodded. “It doesn’t.”

For a while after that, the only sound was the rain drumming on the roof tiles.

Lan Fan finally spoke up. “My Lord. You should be getting back. People will be looking for you.”

“Let them try. If they’re not used to this by now, that’s their problem. Besides, I’m perfectly safe. I have you, don’t I?” He flashed her a wide grin.

She hoped her blush wasn’t as severe as it felt. “Still--”

“Additionally,” he went on, not caring for her logic, “I can’t go anywhere in this rain. My robes would be ruined!” He threw his arms wide, nearly whacking her in the head with his flowing sleeves. 

Lan Fan had begun to scrape the bottom of her already shallow reserves of patience. “At what point did you start caring about the state of your robes?”

He grinned. “At what point did you become so sarcastic?”

Lan Fan froze. Had she been too insubordinate again? She really had to curb this habit before people started to gossip.

“I’d much rather talk to you, anyway. You’re much more interesting than any stuffy court official.” The Young Lord stuck out his tongue at the rain, perhaps imagining it to be the Minister of the Census or some other member of the court. She might have reprimanded him for the childish action had her heart not been beating out of her chest with relief that he hadn’t seen her words as recalcitrant. 

“The whole palace will have noticed you’re missing by now,” Lan Fan said hesitantly. “Everyone will be panicking.”

“You underestimate the number of times I’ve disappeared without warning,” the Young Lord said, glancing up at the sky. The rain showed no signs of letting up.

“The frequency of your disappearances does not detract from the level of panic they cause,” she said carefully. 

He let out a short bark of laughter--something he had picked up from Greed. “Well, I suppose you’re right. But it’s still raining. I’ve mentioned my robes, right?”

“Yes, Young Lord. But we have to get back at some point, sodden robes or no.”

“Ugh. This would have been much less difficult if I could wear what I wanted,” he said, standing up. Lan Fan sprang to her feet as well, pulling the cowl of her gi back up to cover her nose. He flashed her another cheeky grin and, to her utter shock, offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

Lan Fan was certain her entire face, if not her whole body, was as red as a tomato. “Young Lord, we’re several dozen feet in the air on the roof of a building. I do not think that gesture will do us much good here.” She hoped she hadn’t stuttered.

“Again, you’re correct,” he said with a melodramatic sigh. “Race you to the courtyard!” With that, he leapt nimbly from the roof and out into the rain, robes flapping behind him. It took all of Lan Fan’s willpower to follow at a sedate pace, head bowed against the cold wind and rain. She had played similar games with the Young Lord when they had been young and she had still called him Ling. As she alighted on a lower rooftop, she remembered a different time, even before then. 

She and Xue had gone rock-climbing. The memory was hazy--she remembered small hands gripping granite faces, scrabbling for purchase and giggling all the while, dark bangs falling in her face as she gazed at Xue far above. 

It was the first time she had remembered a memory of Xue other than the one of her death.

She landed just above him on the tiled roof of the Lotus Hall. He was on the level beneath her, smiling up at her with arms thrown wide. “I’m winning!”

She lifted an eyebrow a fraction of a centimeter. “Yes, you are.”

He crossed his arms, sodden sleeves sticking to his skin. “You’re no fun.”

“Young Lord.”

“I’m not irresponsible! I’m a very good ruler!”

She nodded. “Yes, you are.”

“But you think I’m irresponsible.”

She wished she had her mask. Facial expressions were so much easier to conceal behind cold porcelain. “Somewhat,” she said cautiously. 

He nodded ruefully. “I use up all my responsibility running a country. You, however…” he mused, narrowing his eyes and staring up at her rain-streaked face.

She had the distinct look he was appraising her. She fought the urge to tug her cowl higher, wishing for her mask now more than ever. At least the cold rain cooled off her undoubtedly red face somewhat.

“You have seemingly endless reserves of responsibility.” He nodded, then gave her a wide grin. “Your reserves of patience, however…”

If her face could become more crimson, it was definitely doing so now. It was true she was not a very patient person at the best of times. But she could often conceal her annoyance simply because of her duty. Again, the mask helped with that as well.

Lan Fan was becoming increasingly uncomfortable under his piercing gaze. “Young Lord. You need to get out of the rain. You’ll catch your death of cold.”

“Ah, fine…” he sighed. She thought he might have whispered “Spoilsport” under his breath, but she wasn’t sure. He dropped to the ground, making an unreasonably loud splash in the rapidly growing puddles and probably soiling any remaining dry fabric on his robes. She followed from the rooftops, trying not to slip on the wet tile. 

“There you are!” cried a voice. One of the Ministers of Justice was hurrying toward the Young Lord, a parasol painted with golden dragons shielding his head from the downpour. “We’ve been looking everywhere, Holy Highness. You’ll catch a cold!” He thrust his parasol above the Young Lord’s head. “And with none of your guards! What if you had been attacked?”

The Young Lord tried to duck under the parasol proffered by the much shorter man. “I had Lan Fan,” he countered, following the minister down the courtyard path.

The portly man bowed awkwardly in Lan Fan’s direction. He hadn’t seemed to have even noticed her until just now. “Thank you for looking after His Highness, Shadow.”

She nodded silently in return and leaped lightly down from her perch, following behind the minister. The Young Lord cast a “save me” look over his shoulder as the other man fussed over him like a particularly ruffled mother hen.

“We _can’t_ have you catch a cold! And your robes! What a mess, an utter and absolute mess!” the minister cried. “You must change into dry clothes immediately. And you have a meeting with the Ministry of Personnel soon! Oh, bother, _bother_!” He wrung his hands worriedly. 

“Huang Zhou,” the Young Lord sighed, holding up a hand. Only he would take it upon himself to learn the name of every single one of his advisors. “Peace. I can speak with the Ministry in damp robes. Lan Fan, with me, please.”

Huang Zhou looked even more worried, if that were possible. “But--”

“I’ll be all right,” the Young Lord cut across him. Lan Fan darted to his side, coming to a rest the required three feet behind him. Here they were again, Emperor and Shadow. In their rightful places. Their _correct_ places.

Lan Fan shook her head slightly as she followed the Young Lord down the quartz-tiled hall, trying to clear the traitorous thoughts from her head. They could never be more than Emperor and Shadow. It was only correct.

If this was _correct,_ then why did it feel so _wrong?_

**Author's Note:**

> Now another 3-month wait :)


End file.
